Bloody Mary
by LazyPerfectionist17
Summary: He loved her. She was taken from him. The question is, can he get her back? Jisbon.


**Bloody Mary**

Teresa Lisbon's stomach lurched and she shuddered as his cold, clammy hand clutched at her thin forearm. He threw her roughly into the back of a freezing, filthy van and she yelped as her funny bone hit the metal wall with a sickening clang. "Shut up!" he barked as he slammed the door shut and locked it with a subtle click. His voice was eerily silky, she thought, not gravelly and deep like she had imagined the serial killer's to sound. Her elbow buzzed excruciatingly and she winced as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position on the icy floor, her body tender with angry purple bruises. She heard the key turning in the ignition, and the van spluttered into life, pulling smoothly away from the sidewalk. She knew by now there was no point in screaming. No one would hear her.

* * *

><p>Patrick Jane was a troubled man. Then again, who wouldn't be after a serial killer had brutally murdered their wife and only child. Still, everyday at his work as a consultant for the California Bureau of Investigation, he tried to hide his troubles behind a façade of jokes and games, but he knew that some days his dazzlingly white smile never reached his eyes. He knew that morning when he woke up that today would be one of those days. For this beautiful summer's day just happened to be the anniversary of when that bastard Red John had come into <em>his<em> house, slain _his _family… and it was all _his _fault.

He remembered that evening so clearly; coming home and instantly knowing something was wrong; reading Red John's note with a sickening dread turning to certainty of what he would find when he opened his bedroom door; the signature smiley face painted in his wife's own blood staring at him mockingly from the wall above the corpses…He shuddered, trying to shake the thought away.

He looked up from his mattress on the floor at the very same face and studied it for what had to be around the millionth time, wracked with guilt. Two years, and he still hadn't washed it off. He knew psychiatrists would deem this "unhealthy behaviour". He didn't care. It was the closest thing he had to Red John, and the only thing of his beloved Angela's that he had left.

* * *

><p>Her wild, scarlet hair spread across Grace Van Pelt's pillow as she lay snuggled close to Wayne Rigsby, her illicit lover. Hehe, illicit lover, Grace chuckled inwardly to herself. Who ever would have thought that one day, sweet little Gracie Van Pelt from Iowa would have an 'illicit lover'. Not her. She loved her job as a CBI Agent, and knew Wayne did too, so why were they risking getting fired just to…well y'know. But deep down Grace knew it was more than that. They were falling in love, and she was <em>very<em> ok with that.

Still…she wondered what would happen if her Senior Agent, Teresa Lisbon ever found out. Romantic or sexual relationships between CBI Agents were strictly against the rules, and could result in suspension or most likely, termination. Grace felt sick even thinking about it. Not that Lisbon could talk, she thought slyly.

Grace doubted that her boss' flirtations with the team consultant Patrick Jane were completely innocent. In a way, Grace hoped they weren't. For one thing, it would take heat off of her and Wayne if they did get caught, and also, Grace was a hopeless romantic at heart. She could clearly see that with their damaged pasts and trust issues, Jane and Lisbon were meant to be together. They could heal each other. She sighed with the sheer romance of it all. But alas, she thought, they can't be together, it's against the rules…like a modern version of Romeo and Juliet. And with that hypocritical thought, she snuggled back against Rigsby's warm torso.

* * *

><p>It was with thoughts of grief and guilt and murder twirling around his mind like a circus baton that Jane stepped out of the dim shadow of his house into the bright summer's day. Warm sun beams ticked the back of his neck, and he ran his fingers through his golden curls self consciously as he walked, the same as he had done every day recently before he reached his blue Citroen. He had no mirrors in his house, no furniture or material possessions that weren't necessary. That way, he had nothing left to lose.<p>

After his wife's death, he hadn't cared how he looked; no-one was left to look at him. But now…now he found himself wondering – would he ever love again? Would another woman ever find him attractive? One face in particular swam into Jane's head at this thought, her dark hair and emerald eyes hypnotising his minds eye. For a moment, his troubles were gone.

It was only when he looked down at his hands on the steering wheel of his car and saw his wedding band, glinting serenely in the sunlight that he was once again consumed by the familiar feeling of guilt and betrayal that always reared its ugly head whenever he even _thought_ about a woman other than Angela. _It's your fault she's dead._ He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and slowly, the woman's beautiful face faded away, leaving only a writhing pit of sadness and loss.

* * *

><p>It had happened on a normal Saturday morning. Lisbon had slept in, taking full advantage of her day off, and had set off to get her morning paper from the store, as she did every day. It had all happened so suddenly and yet she felt like she should have expected it. She had locked her door, and kicked it like she always did (just to make sure). She had walked down the path of her apartment block. She had been caught off-guard. She had been shot with a stun gun. She had been bound and gagged. She had been stuffed unceremoniously into a disgusting van. She had been kidnapped by Red John.<p>

Now it was Monday morning and she was sitting in the same filthy van, not caring where it was going as it chugged inconspicuously down some road or another. She didn't care, because no matter where the van ended up, Lisbon knew she would be dead by the time it got there. The feeling of certainty overwhelmed her and she put her head on her knees in despair, her usually-shiny raven hair falling in lank strips across her face. At this very moment her team members would be arriving at the CBI headquarters. Lisbon wondered how long it would take for them to realise she was gone.

She tried to picture their reactions; Van Pelt, she knew, would try to remain calm but would immediately be overcome with tears, bless her. Lisbon liked Van Pelt, she was a good learner, and much smarter than she let on. Rigsby would then become immersed in comforting Van Pelt, and would therefore not really have time to react to her disappearance. The couple thought they were being so cool and sneaky about their little affair. Lisbon had known for months, but it hadn't affected their work, so she saw no need to bring it up. Someone in that bullpen ought to have a love life. Her best agent, Kimball Cho would show no emotion, his face deadpan as the cogs of his mind whirred at lightning speed as he tried to figure out where she could be. And then there was Jane. Lisbon frowned, trying to imagine what he would do when he discovered that she had been kidnapped by Red John. Would he cry? Would he punch something? Would he even react at all? He was so unpredictable, so hard to gauge, she thought, as the crease on her forehead deepened.

She had always hated that her forehead wrinkled when she concentrated; at least when she was dead she wouldn't have to worry about her looks. _When she was dead…_The enormity of Lisbon's situation crashed down on her as she realised that there was no 'if'. She was, most certainly, going to die. The thought pricked at every inch of her brain, and tears welled up in her bright green eyes. She would never see her friends again; never get to tell them how much she cared about them, never get to tell Jane that…_that she loved him_.

Lisbon gasped a little and her emerald eyes widened as she realised her feelings with almost alarming clarity. So many times she had denied them, knowing that it was pointless, he could never love her back, he was too damaged. Now she was going to die, and he would never know. Hot salty rivers splashed across her cheeks as she finally succumbed to the despair that had been threatening to consume her, and she curled up on the floor, enormous sobs wracking her tiny frame, until eventually she collapsed into a frightened, restless sleep.

* * *

><p>Special Agent Kimball Cho loved to read. He was re-reading "To Kill A Mockingbird" for what must have been the eighth time, which was the reason he was early for work that day. Cho found that reading before a day's work at the California Bureau of Investigation relaxed him, prepared him for the horrors he would have to experience that day. For five minutes, before everyone else arrived, he was immersed in a different world, and it was comforting, if only for a short time.<p>

As he strolled out of the sunny parking lot and into the dimly lit, musty CBI building, he remembered one of the brief conversations he had had with his boss, Teresa Lisbon earlier that week. He was shocked that she'd never read the classic book he had read umpteen times. She said she "hadn't gotten round to it yet." He made a mental note to loan her his copy when he was done with it this time.

Cho made his way to the elevator and up into the comforting familiarity of the team's bullpen, enjoying the before-shift silence. He was about to sit down at his tidy desk when he heard what sounded like paper rustling coming from the boss's office. Cho frowned; the boss usually wasn't here this early unless she hadn't gone home and had spent the night drowning in paperwork. Something, he knew, was wrong.

He got up and walked timidly across the bullpen, trying not to make too much noise when he stepped: he didn't want to wake her if she was fast asleep on her desk (an occurrence which was far from unusual). He knocked quietly below the plaque on her door which read "Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon". No answer. Cho peered through a chink in the blinds of the glass door, trying to sneak a glance to see if he could spy a dark-haired figure slumped across her desk.

What he saw instead was far more disturbing: a flash of bright red. Instinct took over and Cho flung open the office door, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the utter carnage of his boss's room: papers were scattered everywhere, being blown around by the air coming in the open window; her swivel chair was overturned and lying on its side like a beetle who can't get up; a pool of crimson dripped across the keyboard of the computer and onto the sheets of paper, sickeningly red against the clean white. Cho's eyes followed the blood to the wall behind the door where, to his dismay, he saw what he had dreaded: a sinister, smiling, scarlet face. It had happened. Red John had finally got her.

For the first time that he could remember, Kimball was consumed by blind panic. His blood-pressure rose and his eyes roamed the wrecked room as he searched frantically in his mind for an answer to the question: _what was wrong with this picture?_ All at once, it hit him: her body wasn't there, lying in a crimson pool, sliced brutally like every other one of Red John's victims…but the face on the wall was there…so where was she? Where had he hidden the corpse?

Cho's mind whirred as he wracked his brain for an answer. Suddenly, voices greeted him and he jumped, startled. A woman, Van Pelt he thought, was giggling as she and Rigsby walked up the stairs to the bullpen. Finally, Cho's common sense kicked and he raised his voice, an unusual act for him. "Rigsby, Grace! Come here!" Their footsteps clicked lazily as they walked over, clearly not sensing the trace of urgency in his low voice. "What's up man?" Rigsby greeted him cheerfully, and then stopped short when he saw the grave look on his friend's face. Cho simply nodded towards the horrifying scene in front of him. The couple peered in, an atmosphere of dread creeping over them as they did so. When they saw the carnage, any lightness disappeared from the mood. Van Pelt abruptly stopped giggling and on his other side, Cho heard Rigsby's sharp intake of breath. All he could think was, _she'll never read "To Kill A Mockingbird." Shame._

* * *

><p>Jane knew something was off as soon as he stepped out of the elevator at the CBI headquarters. The atmosphere was all wrong; where he was usually greeted with sounds of computers whirring and coffee boiling and soft chatter, today an eerie silence rung out through the bullpen. He strode purposefully passed the abandoned desks, only to turn the corner and walk straight into a red-eyed, whimpering Agent Grace Van Pelt. "Whoa, Van Pelt, what's wrong?" Jane asked; glad to take his mind off his own troubles. He scrutinised her face, meticulously searching and scanning for any clue as to why she was so upset.<p>

Her deep brown eyes, rimmed with blotchy black lines of mascara, stared straight into his blue ones, and in them he saw a flicker of..._pity? _All at once she collapsed into another fit of gasping sobs, the tears gathering on her messy eyelashes. Her shoulders shook as she stammered "I'm…so….so-..sorry Jane." She cupped her hand over her mouth and scrunched her face up, trying to regain some control, but when she couldn't, she simply moved out of his path.

He looked up and was met by Rigsby's grave expression as he hurried over to comfort Van Pelt. He avoided Jane's gaze. Something was very, _very _wrong. "Van Pelt, Rigsby? What's going on?" Jane asked, his voice unusually uncertain. A creeping feeling of dread rose in his stomach. No-one answered him. Panic began to flutter in his chest. What was it? What was wrong? He looked frantically around the bullpen, from the empty desks to Lisbon's open office door to the crying agent and her lover in front of him, trying to make sense of the scene. And right then he knew: Lisbon's door was never open unless she was coming in or out of it. She was the only one here who drank coffee this early in the morning. _No coffee boiling_, his brain whispered tauntingly, and he was so certain he was right, he felt sick._ Not today, _his brain pleaded.

At that moment Cho strode into the bullpen barking orders into his cell phone. He stopped short when he saw Jane, and mumbled into his phone before hanging up. Jane looked straight into the Special Agent's eyes. "Cho?"

"Yes?" answered Cho, his voice loaded with the dread of the next inevitable question.

"Where. Is. Lisbon?" Jane asked, knowing the answer. The uncontrollable rage began to build inside him as the gentle, almost timid shaking of Cho's head confirmed his worst suspicions.

Without wasting time to think, Jane shoved his way passed Rigsby and Van Pelt, sprinted rapidly towards his boss's office, and wrenched wide the already ajar door. His knees weakened and the bile rose in his throat when he saw it: that gleaming, glistening face, crying ruby-red tears down the pure white walls. _No! Not another one!_ His brain screamed as he stared, transfixed at the horror in front of him._ He can't have taken another one! _An all-consuming wave of grief enveloped him as he realised cutting truth: Teresa Lisbon, his boss and best friend had been taken away from him, and she was never coming back.

His eyes flicked reluctantly around the room as he tried, out of habit more than anything else, as he shivered with fear of what he would find. At least she – _her body_ – wasn't there; he wanted to remember her with a spark of life in her beautiful green wait…if the undertakers had already taken her body away, why was there no obvious blood pool, and why was the face…_why was the face_ _on the wall behind the door_? Red John always drew it across from the door, where it would be the first thing anyone saw before they looked at the body…but there was no body here… Finally the last piece of the puzzle slotted into Jane's mind, bringing with it a bittersweet mixture of initial hope and then sickening certainty. "Lisbon isn't dead," he announced to his colleagues, all of whom stared at him in confusion and disbelief. "Uh, man," Rigsby began, "the face. That means that, well; she kinda is…doesn't it?"

Jane spoke quickly and without feeling. He was numb, for he knew how this would end. "See how the face is behind the door, not opposite it? We had to look for it. That is a message, a message telling us that Lisbon isn't dead, but she will be. The only chance she has of living is if we look for her, and even then we may find her too late." His words fell from his lips like lead weights as the enormity of the situation filled the room and stunned it into silence. After an eternity, or a minute, Van Pelt shattered it with a bemused "But why? Why Lisbon?" Jane took a deep breath and his blue eyes widened as he said the truth out loud and heard it for the first time. "Because I love her, so he has to take her away."

* * *

><p>She tilted her head forward, attempting to hide her pained expression with her inky bangs as he drew the knife lightly across the top of her arm, tiny crimson beads breaking the surface of her pale skin. Teresa Lisbon had done a lot of unpleasant things in her life, but she prided herself on never showing pain or vulnerability, but now, bound to a chair by a chaffing rope and with no hope of survival, she was finding that increasingly difficult.<p>

_No!_ The determined part of her screamed, and she steeled herself again. She wouldn't give Red John the satisfaction of seeing her agony. "Why, Agent Lisbon," he hissed, his voice as eerily smooth as piano music. "You are a tough cookie, aren't you?" She simply glared back at him in response, trying to reach every piece of hate within her and put it into that stare. "There's no need to look at me like that," he sang. "It's nothing personal you know, though I must say I think this makes things much more dramatic." His words glided through the room, and for the first time since he had kidnapped her, Lisbon was confused. What did he mean, it was nothing personal? She had been trying to catch him, she was the senior agent working on his case, so he had taken her out. That was why she was here, wasn't it?

"Oh my dear," he smiled at her, a creepy, snake-like smile, as he seemed to see her confusion. "You don't know do you?"

"Know what?" she snapped, speaking to him for the first time, her voice full of the hatred and venom she felt towards him.

"Why I kidnapped you. You think it's because of something you did…trying to catch me?" he questioned, watching her expression intently, reading her. "Yes, that's it." He confirmed as he saw her eyebrow raise, giving him an unintentional signal of his correctness. Suddenly, he started laughing, just a chuckle at first, which quickly evolved into a hysterical cackle. "Oh Teresa," she flinched at his use of her first name. "You have it all wrong. I'm sorry it had to be you, I really am, you seem like a very decent woman, so trust me when I say it really is nothing personal, against you anyway. The truth is though Teresa…" he paused, watching her squirm in confusion and rage. "…I would have kidnapped whoever Patrick Jane fell in love with, regardless of who they were."

* * *

><p>Despite the mood of sombre urgency that had enveloped the room, Wayne Rigsby stared in utter bemusement as he watched the rosy lips of the flame-haired beauty at his side curve up into a delicate smile. <em>How the hell could she smile at a time like this?<em> In amongst his heartfelt love towards Grace, Wayne felt a twinge of something else…anger? No, disgust.

Lisbon was _missing,_ in case she hadn't noticed! But still, she continued, just a gentle red curl at the bottom of her exquisite face. He couldn't take it. "How can you smile at a time like this?" he demanded, looking down angrily at her, his blue eyes filled with scared confusion.

Grace's expression faltered and turned instantly guilty as she realised that she had let her thoughts wander across her face. She watched Jane, how grim he looked and her heart panged with sadness, but her face defied her, showing the trickle of smugness that had crept up along her posture. _I knew it,_ she thought. _I knew they were in love._

The sheer romance of the situation, despite its tragedy, tickled Grace, but she realised the seriousness of the team's predicament when she saw the enraged look on Rigsby's face. This was not a fairytale. The prince may not rescue the princess from the dragon in time. For Lisbon, it dawned on Grace; there would most certainly be an ending if they didn't find her. But it would not be happy.

* * *

><p>Jane made his way numbly to his pale blue Citroen, his long, quick strides pounding in time with his thoughts. They were so embroiled amongst one another, fact colliding with fiction at every twist in the road. He forced himself to think logically. <em>Her house.<em> He had to go to her house, that was where Red John must have found her, because her car hadn't been in the CBI parking lot. _That was where the love of his life had been killed, in her house. But wait, she wasn't dead yet. Yes she was, he had visited her grave not long ago, next to his daughter's. But...then who was he looking for? _Patrick's head spun with crashing thoughts of old loves and new loves and fear and, more than anything, a constant undercurrent of sickening, heavy guilt.

Tears pricked the backs of his eyes like thousands of tiny needles as he was consumed by the knowledge that it was his fault. What had happened in the past to his family, and whatever happened now to Lisbon, it was all his fault, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

Almost as if by magic, he drew up in front of Lisbon's apartment block. He had no recollection of the drive there, too embroiled in the twists and turns of his mind to pay attention to the road. His silver silk waistcoat rising and falling in time with his shallow breaths, he strode nervously to her door. "17 – T. Lisbon" read the letters neatly stamped into the letterbox, from which a bright white envelope protruded ominously. His hands shaking, Jane pulled the blank envelope free of the letterbox with a quiet and very definite _snap!_

He struggled with his suddenly useless fingers to tear open the letter and although he knew who it was from, he still felt the familiar dread and shock when he opened it up that only one person in the world could make him feel. His eyes scanned the page, welling with tears as they read the very real, very clear words:

_Hello Patrick,_

_Now we've both learned from last time that you aren't a "psychic", for if you were, you wouldn't be here reading this letter. You would be at the place where I have taken your beloved Saint Teresa. Very well done on that choice by the way, she really is a beautiful woman, and a very feisty little tiger! You know Patrick, she really is not hard to find, and if you don't, you know what will happen...Then again, I suppose we are all ashes again at some point. Earn your stripes Patrick – I don't want to kill her but for me to let her go, you need to find her. Come on, be a hero for once instead of a fool. Night, knight,_

_Red John. _

* * *

><p>Lisbon's cheek jumped and that damned vein in her head pounded as she spat, with all the venom she could muster, "What. Did you do to him?" The sick bastard's mouth curled up into a vomit-inducing smile as he teased "Why Teresa, I think someone may have a little crush on our Patrick..." <em>Thwack!<em> At first, she thought the liquid running down her face was tears until she saw the bright crimson beads trickling along her chin. Levelling her gaze she stared straight into his expressionless eyes.

"That isn't the answer to my question." she said quietly, noticing her own loud lack of denial. What was the point? She may as well stop living a lie, after all, she was about to stop living period. But what did he mean "whoever Patrick Jane fell in love with"? How did he know Patrick was in love with her? Wait...how did _she_ know Patrick was in love with her?

That was when it hit her, and the feeling was colder than the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of her neck. They were in love. Never admitted it, never acted on it, but in it all the same. And she would never see him again. This time it wasn't blood that seeped from her face as she watched Red John's retreating figure, shaking with his maddening snicker. She couldn't hold the tears back any longer. She was bait, and as much as she wanted Jane to come and rescue her, to miraculously swoop in and get her out and tell her he loved her, more of her wanted him to stay away. Because, in her heart, she knew that was what Red John wanted. And if that happened, Jane would die.

* * *

><p>The blue Citroen screeched noisily out of the quiet street, the suburban apartments seeming to shrink back in surprise as Jane watched them retreat in his rear-view mirror. He should have called Rigsby, or Cho, or Van Pelt. He should have told them about the letter. Its words ran in circles around his mind. <em>I have taken your beloved Saint Teresa... feisty little tiger... we are all ashes... you aren't a "psychic"... be a hero... beloved Saint Teresa... Saint Teresa...Saint...<em>"The church," he breathed. Of course.

Blinking away tears, he remembered the flash of her gold crucifix necklace, resting delicately on the porcelain skin of her collar bone, the sunny glint of it when it caught the light as she chastised him. He gulped, steeled himself and made his decision. There wasn't time to call the team. He wrenched the steering wheel into a reckless U-turn, ignored the screaming and heckling of the other drivers, and sped off in the direction of St Catherine's Church.

* * *

><p>Cheerful hues of green and blue light chased shadows on the stone walls as the sunlight danced through the stained-glass windows. She wished she could hold her necklace. She always held it when she was in trouble, whispering near-silent Hail Marys, always finding comfort and solace in her faith.<em> Jane would laugh, <em>she thought. He had always scoffed at her belief of something more, something bigger than life. Still...she was going to die, so she swallowed the tears that had threatened her when she thought of her consultant, and thanked God that she got to die in such a beautiful place.

* * *

><p>Damn it. Cho swore as some idiot driver swerved out in front of him. Why did the local let these clowns on the road? The Special Agent started to follow the car, out of habit more than anything else, trying to take his mind off the situation with Lisbon until Rigsby or Van Pelt got back to him. He was about to dismiss the reckless driver when a glint of pale blue caught his eye. <em>Jane?<em> Damn it.

* * *

><p>Any other person wouldn't have hesitated. A serial killer has Lisbon, I have to save her. It was as simple as that. So why couldn't he get out of his car? Jane cursed himself internally and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. The truth was, he knew why he was stalling. If he went into that church, he would find her dying or dead. Either that, or she wouldn't be there at all, and Red John would have eluded and stolen from him yet again. <em>No!<em> His mind screamed its denial. He was right about this. He had to be. Purposefully, he shoved open the car door and strode confidently into the church. _For better or for worse..._

* * *

><p>"<em>...pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death, Amen."<em>

"Oh, how Christian of you Teresa. I applaud your dedication to your faith at a time like this, I really do. Most lose hope around...the end," Red John sneered as his blade brushed her arm for what felt like the thousandth time, forming perfect little bloody beads on her skin. She didn't react. She couldn't feel the pain anymore, only a hollow emptiness that she hoped wasn't peace.

Suddenly though, a spark lit in her brain, and she had to know before she died...before he_ killed _her, she corrected herself. "Why Jane?" she demanded, though her voice came out crackly from dehydration. It was as if he had been waiting for her to ask. He smirked. "Why _the hell_ not?"

"First of all," she said, her voice level, her eyes black with anger, "you are in a church. Have some respect." She couldn't keep the disgusted look from crawling across her face any more than he could hide the surprise he felt at her sudden boldness. "Secondly, here's why not: you have never tortured any of your victims' families like you've plagued him. I want to know what he did to deserve that." Before Red John could answer, she cut him off, all of her pent-up emotion suddenly flooding out. "Is it because you're jealous of him or something? Because if it is, I can see why you are, but he still doesn't deserve what you're putting him through! Patrick Jane is a wonderful, intelligent, kind-hearted, _aggravatingly_ honest human being. Just leave him alone, and go screw yourself!" she panted and blinked hard, trying to recover some of the self-control she had lost, whilst Red john only raised his eyebrows at her entertaining little display of emotion. However, he jolted when another chipper voice exploded into a thousand echoes across the vast room.

"Why thank you Lisbon, that was very nice of you to say! Though, don't you think that last part was a little crass for a church? Not that I disagree with the sentiment." Jane smiled, widely and genuinely as he saw she was still very much alive and kicking. Metaphorically of course, her legs were bound to the chair. "Jane?" Lisbon's head whipped around towards the doorway and her voice was so full of hope it made him dizzy. But then she realised what was happening and snapped into Boss-Mode. "Jane, get out, _now!_" However, he wasn't listening. His suit-clad frame was frozen and he was transfixed on the knife-wielding figure next to her. At last, Patrick Jane and Red John met, face to face.

* * *

><p>It took all he had not to spring at Red John and rip his throat out, to stay calm and in control. This man, this evil bastard of an inhuman being had killed his family before. He wasn't about to let him do it again. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Red John's eerie croak filled the room. "Patrick, what a pleasure. Well done for finding me, though it wasn't a hard riddle to decipher. You certainly took your time about it." He smirked and gestured to the numerous sickening wounds on Lisbon's arms and head, all weeping tears of crimson. He looked at her, long and hard. She looked broken and hopeless and...pleading?<p>

He watched her eyes, now like dull, dusty snakeskin instead of shining emeralds, sending him silent words. He knew what she meant. He felt the same way. "Well I'm here now, so you can let her go." He watched with dread and despair as red John's face twisted up into a chilling smile. "You think I want to kill you?" he almost chuckled. "I'm here. Now _let her go._" Jane repeated, his voice hard. Red John sighed, like he was disappointed, like he was a parent trying to explain something very difficult to a small child. "_If_ I had wanted to kill you, don't you think I would have just done it? No, no Patrick," Jane saw Lisbon flinch when the killer used his first name, "You're much more use to me alive. Who else would I play with?"

"Torture." Lisbon corrected, matter-of-factly. Quick as a flash, the killer's hand whipped through the air and connected with her face with a sickening _crack_! "Patrick, you may wish to explain to Teresa here what happened to the last man who disrespected me." Red John warned, and his threat hung, palpable, in the air. Jane ignored it, refusing to play into his hands. "We all know this is going to end in an ultimatum, so what is it?" he queried, feeling suddenly exhausted. He just wanted it to end. Red John smiled his terrible smile again, and the rage bubbled inside Jane. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Money? Power? I can give you that, just tell me and I'll make it happen."

He knew he was begging now, but the desperation for this saga to end clawed at his insides like a deranged beast. He couldn't help it. He wanted out. Finally, Red John sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled agonisingly slowly. "This is the closest you've ever come to catching me. You think one of us is going to leave here in a body bag, and you intend it to be me. If I get away and you don't die, my escape will torture you forever. And you'll never come this close again." His words dragged slowly, slicing open all the painful memories Jane had managed to repress over the last eight years of working with the CBI. Red John continued. "_But_...if you try to kill me," he paused, ready to twist the knife. He gestured to Lisbon, "she dies."

* * *

><p>Lisbon bowed her head in despair. She now knew, with utmost certainty, she was going to die, and it hurt all the more because for a split second she thought Jane could save her. But now he had to make a choice, and he had to save himself. It was just unfortunate that it meant she had to die. She looked up at his face and saw the most honest expression she had ever seen. No guards up, no barriers, just pure agony written across his face. She cursed herself inwardly for allowing him to fall in love with her. At least she wouldn't die in vain. He would catch Red John and kill him. That was what mattered now, and that was what comforted her, even as the killer's icy blade pressed against her warm throat.<p>

* * *

><p>Cho sat in his black SUV outside St Catherine's, heart pounding as he called Van Pelt and Rigsby for back-up. He glanced at his bullet-proof vest lying haphazardly in the passengers' seat. He didn't know what was going down in the church, but he reckoned he would need it.<p>

* * *

><p>Jane's words spluttered in disbelief. "Y-you wh-what? Y-you can't do that. Come on, anything else, I...I can't make that choice, I..."<p>

"Hush," she said softly, her voice a ghost of a whisper. So many times she had said it before, her voice so commanding and strong. Now the word was a request, pleading, she was desperate for him to stop talking. His blue eyes met Lisbon's green ones and for a moment, it was only them. No Red John, no rules, no feeling left unsaid. Just them, lost in each other's gazes. She was sitting there so willing to die for him. She had a choice, and was willing to die, _for him_. No-one else would do that. And that is exactly why he couldn't let her.

He realised that for the last eight years he had been hell-bent on catching Red John, convinced he had nothing left to live for. But when the blue light from the window caught her delicate features and made her look so ethereally beautiful, it dawned on him that he couldn't live without her. He didn't want her to look ethereal and ghostly, he wanted her warm, solid, cinnamon-scented body next to his. _She_ was all he had to live for now. "Go." was all he had to say. He saw Lisbon's eyes widen in protest, but he simply held up his hand to silence her. Red John looked stunned briefly before slitting her arm one last time, smiling wickedly and launching a tiny pellet at the floor.

A smoke screen burst to life, filling the room with an impenetrable grey haze. Through the smoke he heard a distant "Until next time..." Red John's manic laughter followed Jane as the smoke caused him to drift in and out of consciousness. Suddenly, he heard a loud_ bang! _Everything went dark.

* * *

><p>Teresa Lisbon woke to the sound of electronic beeping and quiet chatter, and her nostrils were filled with the scent of disinfectant. She groggily fluttered open her eyelids and was almost blinded by bright artificial lights. "Where am I?" she asked no-one in particular as she struggled to sit up. "You're at Sacramento General. Ssh, Lisbon, go back to sleep." said a soothing, deep voice. She almost did, until she was jolted awake by a sense of recognition. That voice...it all came flooding back to her.<p>

Red John, St Catherine's, Jane, the smoke screen..._Jane._ She sat bolt upright and looked to the corner of the room where the voice had come from, finding a tired-looking, curly-haired, suit-clad consultant smiling back at her. "Hey, sleepyhead." He said gently, and got up to cross the room in three easy strides. He sat down on the bed and clasped her hand. "How're you feeling?" She looked up at him in complete disbelief. There was something different about him, but she couldn't quite place it."Jane. But- I...you...you're not...you didn't-" she stammered, not able to find the words she wanted to say. She drew in a deep breath, ordering her thoughts. "What happened?" she finally managed.

He looked at her, her turquoise eyes glinting under the garish lighting. "We were both knocked out by the smoke screen. I'm fine, but they wanted to keep you under observation in case of any signs of concussion from that head wound." She flailed her arms around impatiently. "I don't care about that, I mean about Red John for God's sakes! You let him go! What kind of bull were you trying to pull?"

"I was trying to catch him and save you." He replied, smiling in spite of everything.

"Sheep dip! You let him go and now he's out there and y- you should have just let him kill me!" she yelled, angry now that she ran over it again in her mind. "You disobeyed an order."

Jane squeezed her hand. "Calm down Lisbon, you're heart monitor's going haywire. And don't worry about Red John."

"How could I possibly not worry?" she demanded, exasperated.

"Because he's dead." Jane stated cheerfully, as though he was remarking on what a beautiful day it was outside. Lisbon stopped short. "He's dead?" she asked tentatively as though she thought he may be joking. "That's right," he replied. "Cho was outside when he tried to escape. He shot him." It was then that Lisbon realised what was different about Jane. He looked...free.

They stared intently at each other, and the electricity in the air was so intense she thought she could hear it crackling. Jane broke the silence by pulling away and saying, "However I do apologise for the gun _I_ stole from your desk. My prints are on it, so there's no denying it. I didn't know what else to do, I wasn't thinking...but," he stopped, looking almost scared, "-you may lose your job because I did that." He hung his head, looking so guilty she almost wanted to cry for him. "Hey," she said, gripped his shoulder, "I may lose my job anyway." He looked at her then, puzzled confusion set in across his features.

"What for?" he asked in bemusement.

"This." She replied and closed the distance between them, brushing his lips in the softest, most delicate of kisses. He pulled away too soon, and looked at her hard. "But you love your job. Agents aren't allowed _this_ kind of relationship with other agents." It wasn't a question. She hesitated before replying – there was no going back after she said this. She took another deep breath and once again green met blue. "I love you more." Again, their lips met, and this time all the pent-up passion and unsaid words flowed into it.

It was Lisbon who pulled away first, and at the sight of his disappointed and confused expression, she laughed. "Besides Jane," she said, smiling so widely her cheeks ached, "You're not an Agent. You're a Consultant."

* * *

><p><span>California Bureau of Investigation (CBI) Homicide and Serious Crimes Unit – Personnel Files <span>

**Name:** Patrick Jane

**Age: **39

**Position: **Consultant

**Parents: **Julia Jane and Alex Jane – both deceased.

**Family: **Angela Ruskin Jane (wife); Charlotte Jane (daughter) – both deceased.

**Education: **None (formal)

**Previous Occupation(s): **Entertainer (television psychic)

**Information Which Could Affect Performance:**both wife and daughter killed by serial killer Red John, who is still loose. Spent 1 year in a medical facility for the psychologically damaged.

**Name:** Teresa Lisbon

**Age: **38

**Position: **Senior Agent

**Parents: **William James Lisbon – estranged; Sophia Anne Lisbon – deceased.

**Family: **None.

**Education: **Chicago State College.

**Previous Occupation(s): **Volunteer at alcoholic rehabilitation centre.

**Information Which Could Affect Performance: **mother killed by drunk driver in car crash when Agent was 10 years old. Agent subject to physical abuse by father.

**Name****: **Kimball Cho

**Age:** 31

**Position:** Special Agent

**Parents: **Mei-Ling Cho and Longwei Cho

**Family: **None

**Education:**New York City College

**Previous Occupation(s): **Minor League Baseball Player; Armed Forces.

**Information Which Could Affect Performance: **spent 4 years in a juvenile detention centre.

**Name:** Wayne Rigsby

**Age: **27

**Position:** Field Agent

**Parents: **Connor Rigsby (estranged) and Sarah Rigby

**Family: **None

**Education: **Ohio State College

**Previous Occupation(s): **Junior Apprentice (Contracting)

**Information Which Could Affect Performance: **Father previous high-time criminal.

**Name: **Grace Van Pelt

**Age: **24

**Position: **Field Agent (Rookie)

**Parents: **Stanley Van Pelt and Ella Van Pelt

**Family: **None

**Education: **Iowa State College

**Previous Occupation(s): **Security Force ('Fleck's Nightclub', Iowa)

**Information Which Could Affect Performance: **Emotionally abusive father; older sister committed suicide when Agent was 16.


End file.
